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Monday
When
Katherine came in the house, the Eyesore was kneeling on the floor, naked with
her face pressed to the floor, Katherine’s martini in front of her. It was
something to see the Eyesore’s hands clasped behind her back, balancing herself
with her face and her knees, awaiting me, Katherine thought. Katherine leaned down and picked up the martini
and downed half of it, and then violently kicked the Eyesore in the ribs, and
the slave fell over without a murmur.
“Katherine!”
Yatesy, the Eyesore’s husband and Katherine’s wonderful lover came out of the living
room, beer in hand. He looked down at the Eyesore and spat a glob onto the
floor and snapped his fingers, and the Eyesore rolled over and
licked up his phlegm gratefully.
“The Eyesore
has been horny for you all day, darling.” Yatesy said
with a smile. “I tied in her vibrator when you left this morning, and I kept it
at a low buzz while she gave me five or six blowjobs…she is just dying to cum.”
Yatesy was barefoot, and he leaned against the wall and ran
his big toe in and out of the Eyesore’s shaved vagina.
“I had
Mel and Teddy over today to play a little five-stud, and we gave her a
marvelous little time….I don’t think Teddy’s been laid in a year, but I let the
Eyesore lick his balls a bit while Mel and I put the clothespins you bought on
Eyesore’s boobs, and dragged her closer and closer with them.”
Yatesy’s toe was pushing the Eyesore’s labia apart, and he
asked Eyesore whether she’d like it if he pushed his entire foot in. “Later I
told Eyesore I was going to give her a fucking, but of course I didn’t…I
slammed my dick in her a few times, but then I pulled out and came on her
privates.”
The Eyesore
began weeping softly. Katherine smiled at Yatesy and
reached down, slapping Eyesore hard on her left breast. “Stop your whining, you
little slime” Katherine said in her bitchiest voice. Eyesore began crying
harder, and Katherine slapped her left breast again.
Inwardly,
Katherine sympathized a bit with the Eyesore …it must be tough when you’re one
of the richest models in the world…but you’re kept by your husband and his
girlfriend, and despite being a classically beautiful honey blonde, having appeared in Vogue, Glamour,
Cosmopolitan, Elle, Amica, GQ, Seventeen, Cosmo Girl,
Elle Girl, Gear, Marie Claire, Harper's Bazaar and
having modeled for Giorgio Armani, Givenchy, Versace, Abercrombie & Fitch, Dolce & Gabbana, Christian Lacroix,
Bagley Mischka, Gucci, Chanel,
Bill Blass, Valentino, Galiano, Yves St Laurent,
Clairol, Pantene, Ponds, Matrix, Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue, Holt Renfrew
but still you’re called the EYESORE all the time!
And “kept”
isn’t quite the right word, as the Eyesore actually supports us both on her huge salary… Katherine
thought…But this is what she wanted, right?
How she
tolerates it I don’t know, Katherine thought, and she slapped the Eyesore’s ass
and made her lie on her side. Katherine then put one of her high heels on her
left nipple, which was closest to the floor. As Katherine pressed the spike heel,
driving the Eyesore’s beautiful nipple into the floor, she smiled at Yatesy. “Honey, it sounds like you had quite a day!”
Yatesy snickered. “Well, it’s tough looking after the little lady…hard work,but I earn my keep, right?”
As the Eyesore heard this, crouching on the floor, she flushed. She remembered when she’d met her future husband—she and some other models were serving Thanksgiving dinner at the St. Oscar’s homeless shelter. It was a publicity stunt thing for charity, and of course she was well known, both for her modeling, and her role in several made-for-TV movies. Most of the bums coming up the line to get the turkey were begging for autographs, or just to touch her hand.
And then there was Yatesy…wearing a stained Army jacket, not good looking at all…but when she said in her breathy model voice, “Happy Thanksgiving” he’d told her she had spinach between her teeth. She was halfway through to the bathroom to check before she remembered there was no spinach served…the bastard.
So why did she take him home from the shelter? And why didn’t she toss Yatesy out, when he read aloud from her diary about her desire to be beaten and tortured? “Shut up, you egotistical Eyesore” he’d said, and so she was christened, and he’d whispered it in her ear as he’d beaten her bare buttocks on their wedding night with a razor strop in the hotel room she paid for…
“Yeah, Cato, see dat? Dat’s where we went to work ovah old Mist’ Davidow. He sho’ scream loud.” Cato’s bellowing laugh scorched Soapy’s ears from the back of the van.
Soapy sighed as he parked the Little Shop van in front of
the
As Plato emerged from the van he waved at an elderly woman in a fox fur who blew him a kiss. “Dat’s Mrs. Cohen, she likes bein’ in diapers an’ a bonnet.” Soapy’s mouth opened as he heard the woman, standing next to her chauffered black Lexus shout, “Look forward to Friday, Plato darling…hello Cato!”
All three men were dressed in the tuxedos that were the Little Shop’s uniform when on a business visit. Soapy’s monkey suit was a little too big for him but Plato and Cato’s evening wear just barely fit them, as they were both 220 pounds of pure muscle, with shaven heads. Identical twins, the only way to tell them apart was that Plato had teeth.
As they stood on the sidewalk, Plato winked at Cato. “Dis is Mister Soaperstein’s fir’ bidness trip fo’ the Little Shop, Cato. He don’t look too relax.” Cato not much for words, gave a toothless grin.
Perhaps Soapy was a bit resentful. The pay at the Little Shop was generous for a non-onerous job like Soapy had, considering he was a elementary school dropout on methadone maintenance, with the career skills of a zoo rhinocerous.
But though Soapy made in the thirties, he was aware that Plato and Cato, and their older twin brothers Myron and Byron, made far more money for only a few hours work. “Don’t forget the black bag, Mist’ Soaperstein.” Plato warned and Soapy reached back in the van and got the heavy black leather satchel with “Little Shop” emblazoned on the side.
Plato pointed at the bag “De tools of our trade.” He smirked and Cato laughed so hard that snot shot out of his large nose, landing on Soapy’s shoes.
The three men entered the building and the elevator and Cato licked his big lips and pressed Button Eleven. “I see you’ve been here before.” Soapy said listlessly.
“The Eyesore.” Cato said, startling Soapy, as Cato wasn’t much of a talker.
Plato frowned at his brother. “Call her Miz Yates out heah, Cato. Yeah, we like seein’ her. She tip real well, and her mouth like a velvet covered vacuum cleaner.” Cato giggled, coughing.
Plato elaborated. “It’s not like old Mist’ Davidow, he so nasty, sixty yeahs old has grey hair growin’ in his ears. We like Miz Yates. Right Cato? He squirt in her eyes last time.”
Cato thumped his fist on the elevator wall so hard that they all shook as the door opened on the eleventh floor. Soapy got his bearings, and they walked into the Folsom & Yates agency. Soapy had heard of some brilliant supermodel who was getting rich handling other models with her own agency… Jeez this was nice.
To Soapy’s revulsion, Cato was flirting with the gorgeous little Asian receptionist, silently making ridiculous faces as she squealed, only containing her hilarity to buzz for Miss Pratt.
Suddenly an attractive redhead walked into the reception area. “Good afternoon, I’m Parker Pratt, Miss Yates’ assistant.” Parker Pratt was something. She offered Soapy two fingers to shake and embraced the two black men, who she was apparently long acquainted with.
Cato actually nuzzled Miss Pratt’s large bosom, encased in a classy black tank top with frilly edges. It seemed formal and pornographic at the same time. Soapy watched dumbfounded as Parker Pratt bit Cato’s ear gently.
“We’re here about a business trip” Soapy said loudly.
Reluctantly Parker Pratt broke away from the two black men and turned to Soapy, her charm-school decorum returning. “Yes, of course. I realize you have a schedule.”
Parker led the three men to a large office door which had PRESIDENT in gold letters. On the front. She unlocked the door and ushered Plato,Cato and Soapy in (he noticed that she grabbed Cato’s ass) and then followed, locking it behind her.
As Soapy looked in, he was struck dumb. There was a stunningly beautiful blonde woman totally nude, kneeling in the center of the plush rug.
It was Miss Yates! Soapy’d seen her on TV, God what a set of jugs! Soapy could see her nameplate on the desk behind her. Parker walked authoritatively behind Miss Yates. To Soapy’s astonishment, the young administrator kicked Miss Yates in the side and the curly blonde grasped her middle, biting her lip.
Parker Pratt kicked Miss Yates again, harder, and the young woman fell over, and Parker grabbed the supermodel by her long blond curls and dragged her back up as the young woman shrieked. My God, thought Soapy. My parole will be revoked big time.
Parker Pratt twisted Miss Yates’s ear and gestured towards Plato and Cato. “Look, you disgusting Eyesore. Your Masters are here!” Parker slapped the model’s face viciously. “Can’t you think of a polite thing to say to greet the two men who skull fucked your skanky face last week? And Cato’s stropping made you howl so loudly that the receptionist had to turn on loud music so clients wouldn’t be frightened?”
Miss Yates looked up at Parker with bleary eyes. “Yes, Parker, thank you for bringing them.” Miss Yates looked at the large black men with wide eyes, and Soapy worried that she might be terrified.
“They should thank you, dear…you pay them ten grand a shot, eh?” Parker Pratt asked as she cuffed her boss again. Soapy closed his eyes. Ten…grand?
But when he opened his eyes, Miss Yates was trembling. “Um look, this might not be the best idea today…she looks freaked.” Soapy protested. “She doesn’t look like she’s ready for it today, do you Miss Yates?”
Parker laughed harshly and took a malacca cane off the desk. “She’d better be ready, you’ve already charged her Platinum card. But maybe the Eyesore needs a little help.”
“
Parker Pratt lifted the cane up and swung. WHACK WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Soapy was astonished that Miss Yates hadn’t uttered a sound and appeared to be sobbing softly. WHACK WHACK WHACK! Soapy gasped as the cane slammed again and again against the blonde supermodels curving buttocks.
This was not good. Soapy’s conscience was a rather lax one, and certainly the Little Shop was a BDSM sex shop, they sold thin bamboo and rattan canes and riding crops for spanking.
But this was a heavy walking stick that Parker Pratt was handling. It might seriously injure Miss Yates, who Soapy was unconsciously falling in love with. The cane was leaving long red weals across the supermodel’s soft buttocks, and Soapy could see evidence of old scars.
“You’re a worthless” WHACK WHACK WHACK! “Eyesore and you” WHACK WHACK “Make me sick!” As Parker screamed and whacked, her cleavage bounced behind the black tank top, a bounce for every slam that the cane made across her employer’s thighs.
What kind of a personal assistant was Parker Pratt, thought Soapy. Was it this hard to get competent secretarial help that you had to tolerate some lunatic assaulting you with a stick? Parker Pratt must type about two thousand words a minute to avoid being fired.
Suddenly Miss Yates screamed as the cane came down especially hard, breaking a blister on her tender thigh, and Soapy felt he had to take action.
He lunged forth, only to feel Cato’s enormous paw dragging him back. Soapy struggled but he was like an infant in Cato’s grasp.
Plato leaned over and whispered in Soapy’s ear. “Hey white boy, we done this befo’. Jus’ play it cool.” Soapy stood still, and finally Cato took his giant hand off Soapy’s shoulder. Soapy breathed through his teeth. He felt as if he’d been manhandled by Magilla Gorilla.
Finally, Parker Pratt threw the cane down. “Now then, you will serve your Negro Masters.” Parker gave the black men a toothy smile. “I have some accounting to do for the disgusting Eyesore here!” she motioned to the weeping, crouched model. “So do your thing, fellas.”
The door closed behind Parker Pratt’s shapely bottom. Cato soapy’s shoulder and pointed towards a couch. Plato removed the black satchel from Soapy’s hand as the Little Shop assistant manager tottered to the sofa.
Oh well. Normally the Little Shop owner accompanied these
men on their business calls,but
he was in
Plato and Cato had stripped off their tuxedo jackets and shirts, and now were gleaming in their tank tops, ebony muscle as far as the eye could see. “Time fo’ fun, Eyesore.” Plato said. Plato pulled a cat o’ nine tails from the satchel, and Cato was already approaching the shivering Eyesore with a coil of barbed wire.
Suddenly Soapy decided to go out of the room and see if there any magazines he could read in the reception area.
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Friday Mumsie came into the Eyesore’s dressing room. Eyesore looked at Mumsie, a hard, gum-cracking bleached blonde. “So, the photographer from Mirabella’s here, huh, Eyesore?
Thinks you’re a big shot.” The Eyesore nodded hesitantly. She never knew how to take Mumsie, if she
said no I’m not a big shot, Mumsie might slap her
for disagreeing, but if she agreed, she might be kicked in the face for ego. But of course Eyesore wasn’t going to be kicked here, in the face, because she had a shoot to do, and the makeup lady was coming in soon.
Eyesore breathed a sigh of relief. Mumsie
wouldn’t risk the support check lessening because she’d blackened her daughter’s eyes, or bloodied the Eyesore’s
nose and made it swell, thus ruining the shoot. Mumsie gritted her teeth as she looked at her beautiful daughter. All that curly naturally blonde hair that she’d inherited from the no-good who Mumsie had the one-nighter with.
Sid had been a handsome preppie at the summer resort where Mumsie’d been waitressing. Mumsie herself had mousy brown straggles that had to be
dyed blonde… And look how beautiful the girl is in that bra and panties…even
without the dress on that she’s going to model. I was a fat pig from day one…Mumsie gritted her teeth. How she hated the Eyesore, and hated having to be supported by
her. But then she smiled. The Eyesore smiled back nervously. “The photographer was tellin’ me what a lucky woman I am to have a little girl like you…and I hadda grin and bear it…he doesn’t know how much of a trial you are to me. I worry, Eyesore. I worry that you begin believin’ that you’re hot shit.”
“N-no Mama…” the beautiful girl protested. “I-I don’t think I’m hot,
I’m just a model, and—and you’d be one too, if you wanted to be. It’s just a
job so I can take care of you and Uncle Ab and the
other kids.” The Eyesore’s heart sank to her stomach. “Oh no…you must know how beautiful you are…they talk about you on the Entertainment Tonight channel, Abner and I almost threw up listening to it.” Mumsie said with glittering eyes.
“I know you think you’re better than your people. And your husband tells me you flounce around the house like your so good. So I think you need some punishment. Something to just remind you of who you is.” The Eyesore gulped. “But Mama…you can’t mess up my face, the photographer is coming in really soon, and the makeup lady. P-please can’t we wait ‘til we get home?” Oh please, please, the girl thought. Mumsie smiled evilly. “I thought about yer precious face, darling. Don’t you worry.” Mumsie went into her bag, rooted around for a moment and brought out a large wooden paddle.
“Like it? I found it downtown. It reminded me of the Hand.” The Eyesore bit her lip, thinking of the big oak hand-shaped paddle that Mumsie had beaten her and her siblings with throughout their childhoods, until one of her brothers had broken it with an axe. Eyesore recalled once when Mumsie had
whipped her at her own birthday party, in front of BOYS! The Eyesore
shuddered, looking at the new paddle. Mumsie smiled
and crooked her finger. “You’re modeling a ankle-length dress today,
sweetie. We don’t even have to worry about bruises on your butt and thighs.
It’s all covered. So come get your discipline.” The Eyesore got all her strength up. “No, no I won’t Mama. I’m a grown—“ Mumsie leaped up, her cheap denim miniskirt bouncing on her legs. She grabbed the Eyesore by her ear and dragged her back to the seat. “GET OVER MY KNEE, YOU LITTLE WHORE!” Mumsie screamed. The Eyesore knew all she had to do was raise her voice and scream for help—the photographer would come in and kick Mumsie’s teeth in if wanted. He was over his head in love with Eyesore anyway. But she couldn’t say anything. Mumsie had
the Eyesore too well programmed. She just flopped over Mumsie’s
knees, and felt Mumsie’s harsh fingers dragging
down the panties. “The way these thong things work, they’re so little I could prob’ly whip your ass with them on, they’re almost not there, but I’m taking them down to show you what a spoiled little bitch you are.” Mumsie muttered. “Now, I want you to thank me after every swat. Got that?” The Eyesore was shaking, and then she felt Mumsie’s fingers dragging her Elizabeth Arden hairdo up. “I said do you hear me?” Mumsie’s teeth were gritted.
“Yes Mumsie.” The Eyesore responded mechanically, and prayed she didn’t tear up during this…the tears would ruin the makeup job later on. But perhaps she could take herself to another place mentally. At Harvard, where she’d been on academic scholarship, she’d learned of astral projection, and knew there was a faint possibility… WHACK! Oh, the harshness of the wood landing on the Eyesore’s full buttocks. The Eyesore blinked back tears fiercely, and repeated what she’d been taught during Mummie’s earliest spankings of her when she was in preschool: “Thank you Mumsie, for my correction!” WHACK! The second one was harsher than the first. The Eyesore felt as if she might gag. “Th-thank-sob-thank you Mumsie, for helping to correct me!” The Eyesore heard Mumsie’s low laugh and
took an intake of breath. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! “Well, why aint’cha sayin’ nothing?” “You’re whipping me too fast, Mum—“ Mumsie swatted the Eyesore across the head and the girl fell to the dressing room floor. Mumsie kicked the Eyesore in her taut belly. Then Mumsie dragged the Eyesore up again and threw her across the small coffee table. As Mumsie landed the paddle four more times, the Eyesore thought she was going to vomit. She’d eaten just a bit of yogurt this morning, but there had been pizza last night, and it felt as if it would come up at any time. But as Mumsie kept swatting, the Eyesore
shouted through her blinding tears, “Thank you WHACK for WHACK my WHACK WHACK correction Mumsie!” And
finally Mumsie’s arm wore out a bit, and the
paddle went back in her purse. Mumsie then took the Eyesore by her ear and dragged her up.
. “Now repeat after me, sweetie.” Mumsie’s
whisper echoed in the Eyesore’s ear. “I am a worthless, ugly Eyesore and a
curse to humanity…I want you to whisper it twenty times, but then I want you
to write it five thousand times tonight and fax them to me, or by God I’ll
come over and knock all those pretty teeth out. You already wear a bridge
from when I punched you after you were kissing Tommy McFarlane in eighth
grade.” “Look at those big titties…” Mumsie said, gritting her teeth
once more, as the Eyesore tried to collect herself. “I never had tits like
yours, honey.” Mumsie stepped over to the Eyesore
and reached past her daughter’s golden tresses, and harshly tweaked the
Eyesore’s nipple through her beige brassiere. The girl flinched. “What’s wrong, baby?” Mumsie asked in a
honeyed voice. “Don’t you want me to admire your pretty boobies?” The older
woman lifted her hand up and slapped-clawed the Eyesore’s left breast as she
spoke, and the girl burst into tears anew. “P-please Mama…not here…what’re they gonna
think if you—“ Mumsie
reached over and ripped the Eyesore’s bra off
and clutched the girl’s breasts in her claw like hands. As she
squeezed, the Eyesore had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming bloody
murder. And why was she holding back? She needed help, rescue from this crazy
person, her mother. Mumsie let go of the Eyesore’s breasts and reached into her bag again, and
the young model breathed, terrified and in acute pain. Long red streaks from Mumsie’s nails marred the perfect breasts, and they ached
horribly from being crushed in Mumsie’s hands.
Luckily it wasn’t going to be a cleavage shot. The Eyesore wouldn’t be able
to model for one of those now, for quite a while. Finally Mumsie brought out a coat hanger,
which she slowly un-twisted, bending and pushing it til
it was straightened. “Honey. I want you to stand up and arch your back, right
now. If you can take a few swats on your precious boobies, than Mama will
feel like you had enough.” The Eyesore, biting her lip,
arched her breasts and held her hands together behind her back. She knew the
drill, for Mumsie had hated and been jealous of the
Eyesore’s blooming breasts since they’d showed up when the girl was in sixth
grade, and her pathetic A cup mother had been quite vicious to them. Mumsie grinned and swung the coat hanger and it slammed against the Eyesore’s right nipple WHACK! “Th-thank you Mumsie for my correction” the Eyesore said in a tremulous voice. WHACK! THWACK! SLAP! The coat hanger landed again and again across the Eyesore’s breasts until the girl fell on the floor and held them close to her, and Mumsie slashed the Eyesore’s buttocks, greedy for pain. A few minutes later, the makeup girl knocked on the door, and Miss Yates and her mother opened it. Miss Yates was a bit teary and wearing her bathrobe, and her mother was rubbing the beautiful model’s arm tenderly. “We were just talking about her late daddy…she’s a little broken up.
But she’ll be fine, wontcha hon?”
The makeup girl looked at the mother doubtfully...there was something weird
going on. But Miss Yates was so beautiful that the Maybelline
would take care of the tear streaks. THE END |
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